


Denying Expectations

by bar2d2s



Category: The Flash (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surely Axel didn't just pick himself up off the ground after Grodd ripped off his arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denying Expectations

Axel blacks out in a pool of his own blood, no feeling whatsoever on his right side. He accepts, in his own mind, that he’s probably going to die. Bummer. He’d always wanted to travel outside the States, maybe go to Australia and steal a kangaroo. Too late now.

He comes to in a big, soft bed with about nine hundred pillows, his body one giant ache. There’s arguing outside the partially-open door. Loud arguing.

“-a  _criminal_  and he’s-” This voice was harsh. Unwavering. In the back of his head, Axel thought the voice sounded like it belonged to a cop.

“David, he’d die in prison. They’d let him die. That’s not justice. That’s not order. It’s just cruel.” This voice was softer, but still firm. Whoever it belonged to wanted Axel to stay there. The first voice sighed.

“Two weeks, Hartley. That’s the time it should take for him to get well enough to be moved. Two weeks and he’s gone.”

“Two weeks.” The second voice, Hartley, agreed. He sounded relieved, as though he wasn’t sure if the cop was going to agree to letting Axel stay. In that moment, right before the pain caught up and caused him to pass out again, Axel decided that whoever Hartley was, he loved him.

***

Three days passed before Axel was able to stay conscious for more than five minutes at a time. Another two days before he moved up from being fed intravenously to light broth and water. Three more days, and he was almost like his old self except, y'know.

“You didn’t find my arm, did you?” He wasn’t looking at Hartley, instead choosing to prod at his stump. The redhead leaned over, pulling his hand away from the wrappings that covered it.

“We’re fairly sure that a gorilla warrior ate it, and stop doing that. You’re just hurting yourself.”

Hartley was always patient with him, and never yelled. He’d introduced himself as Piper, but Axel had yet to correct him. He knew his name, his real name. But that was his secret, for now.

“I hope he choked on me. Heh. So, uh. This isn’t your house.” It wasn’t a question. Hartley squirmed in his chair, which he’d set up next to Axel’s bed.

“Why do you say that?” Axel used his stump to gesture lamely at the decor of the room.

“It’s too bland to be your house. Your room would have like, framed posters from musicals, and shit. Books of sheet music. Maybe some pets. A robe hanging on the back of the closet door, something, anything to make it feel like home. This room belongs to a fuckin’ robot.” Hartley flinched.

“Okay, you caught me. This is my boyfriend’s apartment.”

“The cop?” He flinched again. Axel almost laughed. “Don’t even try to play, that guy talks like a cop. He dresses like a cop. He looks at me like a cop would.” Axel shrugged. “Ergo, he’s a cop.” A flicker of a smile passed over Hartley’s face, and Axel’s heart stuttered.

“Ergo?” This time, he  _did_  laugh.

“Hey I can talk fancy when I want to. I dropped outta high school ‘cause it was  _boring_ , not 'cause I couldn’t cut it.” The almost-smile vanished.

“You’re avoiding the subject, Axel.” He loved the way Hartley said his name. “What were you doing so far from the fight, with the gorillas?” He looked down at his stump again, to where a small patch of red was beginning to soak through the wrap. A blood flower. 

“I think I popped a stitch.” He held out his stump, making the sad puppy face his mom could never say no to. “Could you, uh?” Hartley sighed, but got to work.

***

The first voice, David, wasn’t home a lot. Axel had been right; David was a cop. An important cop. And Axel was sleeping in his bed.

That thought never failed to make him grin to himself. Another secret, a private joke. Because, well, he was sleeping with his boyfriend, too.

In the most literal of terms.

“C'mon.” He’d whined on day ten, scooting over to pat the bed with his good hand. “You’ve been working yourself to death, sleeping on a couch for more than a week, when ya sleep at all! A little nap won’t kill you.”

Hartley never looked at him like a criminal, though he was looking at him in suspicion now.

“Why do  _you_  care about my sleeping habits?”

“Oh, c'mon!” Axel waffled, biting at his bottom lip. “You’ve practically been my slave since I woke up, probably before. I just. Um. I don’t want you to burn out.” He patted the bed again. “I’ll nap too. Just…take a break.” He yawned, for emphasis and to his own embarrassment, Hartley copied him.

“Maybe a little nap.” He agreed, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off the green cardigan he’d been wearing in the cool of the apartment. As he climbed up onto the bed, Axel decided that he liked his ankles. “But just for an hour, then I have to change your wrap, okay?” Axel nodded, laying down with his back to him.

As soon as he heard Hartley’s breath even out, however, Axel slowly rolled over. He was just going to watch him for a little bit. Honest. That was all there was to the plan. But then he saw how all the little lines in Hartley’s forehead had smoothed themselves away, how long Hartley’s lashes were as they lay against the top of his cheeks. And then a stray lock of hair unhooked itself from behind Hartley’s ear, falling across his nose. Axel reached out…

With his stump.

Pulling back quickly, he accidentally jostled the bed, and Hartley woke up. His eyes darted around wildly for a second, but when no dangers revealed themselves, he settled. The lines in his forehead were back. Axel looked at him with wide, hopefully pitiful, eyes.

“I had a nightmare.” He whispered, voice small. Hartley smiled, reaching out to smooth Axel’s sweaty hair back from his forehead.

“They happen. Wanna talk about it?” Axel shook his head, so Hartley let the subject, and his hand, drop. “I understand. Mm, looks like we were out  _almost_  an hour.” Liar. He’d been asleep for just over twenty minutes. “I’m going to go get dinner started, then you’re taking a shower. After that, we’re changing your wrap. You’re healing up rather nicely, for someone who lost an arm and wasn’t once seen by an actual doctor.”

Hartley got up and left, but his words pinned Axel to the bed.

Healing. He was healing. That meant that soon, the cop would make him leave. Worse, he’d send him to jail. How could he go to jail with only one arm? He’d have to run away before that happened. Find his gear, grab it, and go. But, how could he face the rest of the Rogues like that? And more importantly…how could he leave Hartley?

***

He waited until day thirteen, when Hartley was taking a nap on the couch, to finally get up and look for his gear. It took a while, moving as slowly and as quietly as he was, but he finally found it under the sink in the kitchen. His uniform, his shoes, his tricks, everything was stuffed in a big duffle bag. No, not stuffed. Folded. Washed. Even his ripped sleeve was repaired, made to work for his stump. Realization dawned on him. He hadn’t  _found_  his stuff, it had been left out for him.

“Good, I was getting impatient.” Axel jumped. How long had Hartley been standing behind him? Not standing, leaning against the kitchen island, watching him. Smiling. “I fixed it up the best I could, but I’m no tailor. David thinks he threw it all out, the night we saved you, but I salvaged everything I could find. Listen, when you 'escape’ tonight? Try not to break anything.”

There was nothing Axel could do but stare as Hartley went to lay back down on the couch. 

“Why?” He finally asked, and Hartley’s head popped up over the side.

“Because you’re not a bad kid, Axel. This is fate’s way of giving you a second chance. I don’t think you’re going to waste it.” And that hurt. It was a punch to the gut, because yeah, Hartley was a do-gooder vigilante. He saw the best in everyone. And right now, he was seeing some good in Axel that didn’t exist. “I’m going to sleep now. I don’t think you’re going to be here when I wake up.”

Axel is numb. Not pain-numb, guilt-numb. With some difficulty, he dresses on his own in the bathroom. Getting the shoes on is at the same time the most important and the hardest task he’s ever performed. He may have to invest in some velcro. The mask is the last thing he puts on, watching his eyes disappear in the mirror. 

When he finally steps back out into the living room, he isn’t Axel anymore. He’s the Trickster, and he’s in a cop’s house, and a vigilante is asleep on the couch. Fully asleep, too. Snoring. His mouth quirks upwards, and Trickster kneels next to Hartley on the floor, brushing the stray hairs off his face.

“The world hasn’t ruined you yet, and I’m gonna make sure it doesn’t. You’re fucking beautiful, Hartley.” Leaning down, he brushes his lips against Hartley’s forehead, then stands up quickly. Casting one last look around the apartment, Trickster headed for the balcony, pushing the door open and closing his eyes against the feel of cool night air on his face.

“Sorry.” He whispered, activating his shoes and running off into the sky.

Back in the apartment of David Singh lay a man named Hartley Rathaway. His eyes were open.

He’d heard every word.


End file.
